I remember the last time we saw each other; he stepped like a person that never reached his destiny. He came near me and broke the silence with a sincere voice that slipped through his throat, as it approached the cavity regarded with the gift of sound, said to me “I missed you”. My grandfather is a worn and skilled man. His ancient body unveils the arduous work he has gone through. The integument of the upper part of his head has lost most of his shiny hair like the leaves of an old tree succumbing by the pass of the years. Nevertheless he uses a black and scurfy comb, the one that has taken the life of his keratinous filaments. In addition, his mature and porous nose takes deep heavy breaths identical to the giant from the ´´Jim Henson's the Storyteller`` series. Their so powerful that you can hear how the endless air fills his aged lungs giving him the ability to stay alive. In fact, his capacity to pay attention is much vanish from his knowledgeable hears. They are rounded with extended curves, full of potholes like an old street from the past century. Although his exhaust eyes are overshadow by the years, they still show a lighten soul. Surrounding the white membrane there is a small circular portion colored of an enduring green almost incapable of receiving light. His wrinkle face plenty of kindness reveals just in moments what kind of person he is. Also, it is crowded of lines like a landscape from an old map that belonged to pirate marked by his deadly fights on the sea. The desire to kiss the most loved woman by the experience of his lips is not possible due to the cruel reality of the downfall. His rough hands enriched with intelligence accumulate the deep scars of all life hard work. The lines in it are well stated revealing that he is a define man.
Like rocks, his strong fingers hold my inexperienced hands so gently for giving the kindhearted he is. They are full of movement, capable of grasp a hammer to work all day long below the...
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